


Alone We Die

by taeminki



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 17:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeminki/pseuds/taeminki
Summary: "What happened to him, Youngho?""I don't know. He told me he loved me, and then it sounded like he dropped his phone in his drink. He's done it before."





	Alone We Die

" W h a t  h a p p e n e d  t o  y o u ? "

Sicheng pressed a hand against Nakamoto Yuta's throat, cutting off his airway. It was a hold with just the right amount of force-- the kind of rough pleasure that Yuta got off on. Sicheng could hear the effect of his hold; the gasp of what remained of Yuta's breath, and the moan that was cut short by Sicheng's tongue. The pleasure had yet to catch Sicheng; only two pair of underwear away from being completely flush against one another, and Sicheng had yet to moan, or gasp, or even speak.

That was what happened to Sicheng. All the pleasure had been fucked out of him and he was now a body of perceived love-- a vessel of love no more. T h a t  was what happened to Sicheng.

 

  
"Hi," Sicheng said carefully, a small wave of his hand in Youngho's direction. Youngho didn't smile, or say anything, but he nodded, and that was enough acknowledgment for Sicheng-- who could scuttle off to class with a lighter heart, and sit through the lesson with a more open mind--less consumed, and less in pain.

" S l u t - - " of course it didn't last long. For Sicheng, it never did. Empty classroom, a few minutes after the bell dismissed class, some kid Sicheng hardly knew-- or knew briefly some time ago, or would know in the future-- had Sicheng by the waist-- and then Sicheng was turned, and he was bent over a desk, with a hand rough on the back of his neck. Sicheng lost all breath in his lungs, lost all sense of sight for a moment as it went blurry, and scared. The kid leaned over him, lips on cheek for a moment--and it was almost soft. It was almost sweet. It was almost a touch Sicheng would have desired-- but ever since Seo Youngho, he was the only person Sicheng craved a gentle touch from.

"You really d o bend over for anyone--" and Sicheng knew why he might know the kid. He was one of those that blossomed from rumors-- one of those one-nights, perhaps, whether it already happened or would happen soon. He was one that came to Sicheng through word of mouth. Judging by his roughness, and his lack of, perhaps, asking permission to touch Sicheng; Sicheng wasn't going to like him, and he wasn't going to be good. He wouldn't last long.

"What on e a r t h are you two doing?" their professor came shrieking back into the room. The kid moved right away-- letting go of Sicheng and disappearing from his body. Sicheng remained against the desk, numb to move, much less to defend himself. He heard the teacher scream, and the kid splutter some excuses, and then quick footsteps and Sicheng felt like he was alone. Finally, and it was slow, but it was progress-- he planted his hands against the desk, and pushed his chest off of it-- noticed he was crying, and wiped his eyes.

"Sicheng?" a voice next to his ear, a hand on his shoulder-- and Sicheng flinched, and looked, and it was just the woman-- the kind woman, his profesor, an adult. He moved slow again, but he bowed his head and then his back, and the woman stepped closer, and studied his face, and frowned, "Sicheng? Did that boy attack you?"

"No, ma'am." Sicheng muttered softly. The woman didn't seem convinced-- appropriately. Sicheng's tears hadn't stopped falling-- "You're certain? We have no tolerance for bullying or abuse of any kind. He will be expelled immediately."

"No, ma'am, it's okay. I'm fine." Sicheng said. He shakily bent to grab his things. He slung his bag over his shoulder and tucked his book beneath his arm. He bowed to his teacher, "Thank you, ma'am," and he sped off, not giving the woman another chance to convince him he'd been abused.

P l e a s e  d o n ' t  t e l l  m e  I ' v e  b e e n  a b u s e d.

There was nothing Sicheng could escape for long. Before he knew it, he was stuck in the office, and he was sitting in front of their school's advisor, and he was seated a few feet away from the kid that Sicheng hardly knew. He'd seen his face once or twice, but he didn't recognize his body-- a telling sign that, if anything, he was a one-night-to-be.

"Sicheng, can you tell us what happened?" not only was the school adviser there, there was also an officer, and the teacher that had caught them. Sicheng looked between all three adults, and then at the kid. He was hanging his head. He looked ashamed. His hands were folded in his lap; Sicheng looked to the three adults, and he told them, "Nothing happened."

"Sicheng, don't you remember what happened?" his teacher asked, leaning forward gently. The officer put an arm out-- "Ma'am, please don't get too close to him," and Sicheng looked between them both, confused, "He-- it was nothing. Nothing happened."

"Sicheng--"

"If he doesn't want to testify, there's nothing we can do," the officer said.

"We  c a n  expel y o u from the school," the adviser spoke, pointing a stern finger in the kid's direction. Sicheng looked at him. His eyes were closed now; but he hadn't moved an inch otherwise. "As for you, Sicheng--"

Sicheng looked. THe advisor looked gentle, now; he folded his hands and leaned forward softly, "I would like to refer you to one of the school's counselors. I'll have you talk to her now-- she'll be free in a moment."

"A counselor? Sir, for what?" Sicheng asked. Silence filled the room for a moment-- then, "She'll explain that to you, okay? Mrs. Lee, will you take him to the counselor's office-- and stay with him until she is available to take him? You can return when he's with her."

"Yes, sir," the woman said-- and Mrs. Lee moved to Sicheng, and told him, "Let's go, Sicheng," and it was gentle, unlike a command; but Sicheng knew he couldn't refuse. He gathered his bag and stood. He had no idea where his book had gone-- only knew that it was no longer with him. He looked under the chair, and on the desk, and he even stood and looked where he had been sitting, but it wasn't there. He opened his bag; he looked inside. Mrs. Lee put a hand on his shoulder, "Sicheng? What's wrong-- what are you looking for?"

"My book. Where is my book?" Sicheng asked, digging through his bag. His fingers were shaking; "I can't find it--"

"We pulled you very suddenly from Mr. Kang's class just now-- I'm sure you left it in there. I'll call him and have it brought to you, okay?"

Sicheng felt a little more at ease, and he nodded gently. He was led from the room and walked down a few hallways to get to the counselor's office, in which there were three other students, two of whom he recognized. There was Lee Taeyong, who waved gently at Sicheng upon seeing him, and a nameless face that Sicheng remembered seeing above him in a dimly lit party room. They caught each other's eye. He looked away quickly.

"Have a seat, Sicheng. I'll go and call Mr. Kang right now, okay? I'll be back in just one moment," the woman said. She left his side-- left him to choose a seat amongst the ones in the room. Taeyong gestured Sicheng over; Sicheng's legs carried him there. He sat down to the left of Taeyong. Taeyong immediately whispered to him, "Are you okay?" and Sicheng nodded, "What about you?"

"I had another fight with my mother." Taeyong said, and he unconciously touched his cheek in the midst of the sentence. It returned to his side by the end, "But you, Sicheng-- are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." Sicheng said. Taeyong leaned forward to get a good look at Sicheng's face, "Really? Even with....?"

"With what?" Sicheng asked. He searched his mind for anything that could be wrong, and remembered that he didn't have his book, and his felt his fingers start to shake again. He opened his bag and dug around again, hoping and wishing perhaps it was in there, "Without my book-- no, I really want my book."

"Your book?" Taeyong asked. Sicheng pulled his hands from his bag and tucked them beneath his arm-- crossing them tightly across his chest and holding himself, trying to breathe. He bent over slightly, feeling the pressure in his body pull him together. Taeyong tried to comfort him-- a hand at his head, traveling down to his neck--and suddenly, with Taeyong's hand positioned at the back of his neck like that, Sicheng felt a blossom of pain, and heard an odd, strangled sound-- and when Sicheng became aware of himself again, the back of his hand hurt-- somewhere between knuckles and wrist, and he was on the floor, and Taeyong was looking at him with wide eyes, his hand in the air.

"Sicheng?" Mrs. Lee came rushing over, picking the boy up from the floor. She looked accusingly at Taeyong, and worriedly at Sicheng, "What's wrong?"

"My book." Sicheng said, looking at the woman. He stepped back from her embrace and wondered, "Does Mr. Kang have it?"

"Yes. He's sending Seo Youngho down with it right now." Mrs. Lee said.  S e o  Y o u n g h o  and Sicheng's throat closed up-- almost enough to block himself from swallowing. He nodded, and he sat, and Taeyong looked between him and Mrs. Lee. Mrs. Lee started for Sicheng, "Sweetie, would you like to sit elsewhere?" but Sicheng shook his head, "No. Taeyong is my friend."

Mrs. Lee looked cautiously at the two, and nodded. She settled herself in a seat just a few away from the two boys, occasionally glancing over to check on them. Taeyong leaned over and whispered to Sicheng, "Seriously, are you okay?"

"I just want my book." Sicheng muttered. Taeyong frowned, "No, Sicheng-- what's going on with you? I touched your neck just now and you freaked out-- you knocked my hand away, you fell on the floor--"

"I'm sorry." Sicheng said. Taeyong blinked at him-- lost once, lost twice, and then he leaned back, "You're here to see a counselor, right?" and Sicheng nodded, and Taeyong-- "Good."

Some silent moments of not knowing what to say later, Youngho walked through the office doors, turning immediately toward the desk and walking up to it. He put the book down, and his voice carried through the room, "I brought the book for Sicheng;" and he was the only person in the entire school that said Sicheng's name exactly right. Sicheng's stomach quivered, butterflies knocking around. One of the men behind the counter-- at the computers-- pointed in Sicheng's direction and asked, "Could you take it to him? He's right there, in the blue--" and Youngho didn't need a description of Sicheng to know who he was. Youngho turned around, and he looked at Sicheng for a moment. His face read concern, and guilt, and he started for Sicheng and he handed him his book.

"Thank you," Sicheng said, holding the book to his stomach. Youngho nodded, and then he hesitated to leave. His mouth was open like he wanted to speak, and his eyes were shining like he might cry. Mrs. Lee noticed Youngho standing in front of Sicheng, and she shooed him out of the room-- "Back to class," and Youngho snapped out of his frozen state, bowing to Mrs. Lee and telling her "Y--Yes, ma'am," and turning to Sicheng for just one more second before disappearing. All Sicheng could see was the glass door gently swing shut, and Youngho's retreating form disappearing behind the wall of the hallway.

"Dong Sicheng?" Sicheng turned at the slightly off pronunciation of his name, and saw another woman peeking around the corner. She resembled Mrs. Lee, Sicheng though, in that she had concern in her expression and black hair atop her head. She saw Sicheng looking at her, and gave him a smile, "Would you come have a seat in my office, sweetheart?"

Sicheng followed her question without an answer-- only an action to relieve her wonder. He brought with him his book, and nearly forgot his bag, but Taeyong called to him, "Sicheng!" and Sicheng turned, and Taeyong handed him his bag. Sicheng smiled, "Thank you," and then he was in the counselor's office-- Ms. Kim, Sicheng read. He had a teacher with her name, only she was married.

"Okay, Sicheng," she started gently. She had a pretty smile, Sicheng noticed. She didn't smile with her teeth unless she was talking-- "Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?"

"I'm Chinese," Sicheng started-- which wouldn't have been very significant if he wasn't in South Korea-- in a Korean school. She nodded, looking down at the papers she had in front of her. Her pen didn't move, "What else can you tell me?"

"I'm seventeen.... I'll graduate at the end of the year." Sicheng meant to say something more, but he waited a moment too long in silence, and she hummed, curious-- "So soon? Did you advance in some grade?"

"I skipped second year, because I was too ahead of my class-- but that was in China." Sicheng said. "I was supposed to skip another year, but my Korean wasn't good enough. I had to stay in school this year, too, to get better at Korean before I move on to university."

"That's amazing, Sicheng. Do you feel as though your Korean is improving?" she asked. Sicheng nodded; she smiled, with teeth this time, "Good. Your Korean  i s  very good-- you're doing extremely well."

"Thank you," he said softly. She nodded. She looked over his papers for a silent moment, and then-- "Sicheng, can you make sense of today? Do you understand why you're here, and why you were in the main office a little while ago?"

"No." Sicheng said honestly. She nodded, jotting something down and then putting her clipboard on the desk. A blank piece of paper fell over the paper she had been writing on; it blocked Sicheng from seeing what she had written.

"Why don't we start from the morning?" she asked. Sicheng nodded. She prompted him to start talking about his morning-- from the very moment he woke up. He tried; he often didn't remember every detail of his day. Did anyone? "I woke up, and I showered. I didn't see my roommate this morning. He said he had an early class today... no, a club. He always does on Thursdays."

She nodded, "Good," she muttered, and she urged him to continue, "I ate... oatmeal, and-- strawberries, but I think they were my roommate's strawberries. I feel sorry-- I should buy him more. Is there a store close that sells strawberries?"

"Yes, right down the street, next to the library. Have you been to either building before?" She asked, and she lifted the blank white paper to write on the one beneath it. Sicheng saw her write  s t r a w b e r r y  and then let the paper fall down. He shook his head, "No, I haven't," and she pointed to the book, "Where did you get that, then?"

"It's mine." Sicheng said, running his fingers over the broken rim, "My father made it for me, before I came to Korea. He told me to write a book in it--" and Sicheng flipped open the first page. The writing was a mix of Korean and Mandarin, but the first page was all Mandarin-- a language Ms. Kim presumably couldn't understand, so he turned it around and let her see his handwriting. She looked over the words and nodded, turned to her clipboard and, again, lifted the page to write. As she did, she asked, "How far have you gotten?"

"I'm almost done. I should finish this year." Sicheng said. He closed his book, and put it on his lap-- "Then I can send it to him, and he can read it. He wanted to."

She nodded-- nodded, nodded, and then, "Tell me a little more about your morning, Sicheng. What did you do after breakfast?"

"I got my stuff and went to class." Sicheng answered.

"And how was class?"

"It was okay. I like Mrs. Lee, but I don't like history much. I paid attention, though! I feel like I'll do well on her test."

"As you should. You are a very bright student, Sicheng," she smiled. She put her pen down, and seemed to lean forward a bit, "What about after class, Sicheng? Everyone left, right? Were you alone with another boy?"

"Yes." Sicheng said. She had stopped smiling, but her face didn't appear to be any less soft, "And why were you alone with him? Did he ask you to stay?"

"No, I was just tired. I didn't want to go to my next class yet." Sicheng said. Ms. Kim made a note-- and, as she was writing, "Was there a reason you felt so tired, Sicheng? Did you sleep enough last night?"

"I slept plenty. My body was relaxed. I felt light, and happy, and I like Mrs. Lee's class, so I wanted to stay a few moments longer." Sicheng said. Some silence followed his statement; Ms. Kim wrote, and wrote, and she put her pen down and faced Sicheng completely again, "Now, tell me what happened after that. The boy did something to you, didn't he?"

"He got really close to me, and he bent me over my desk." Sicheng said. Again, she nodded; then, "What did he do to you, Sicheng?"

"He-- nothing. He called me a--slut, but that was it. He just held me down for a minute." Sicheng said. Ms. Kim nodded, leaned over to make a note, and spoke while her hand wrote slowly, "Think about your next class, Sicheng. What was it like?"

"Mrs. Kim went over a lot today. She said we were going to prepare for her final next week-- she always gives her test early so we don't have to worry about her class while we have other classes to study for." Sicheng said. Again, some nodding; Ms. Kim was a good listener; and she asked, "Sicheng, can you tell me your schedule?"

"I have Mrs. Lee first, and then Mr. Yoo, and then Mrs. Kim, and Mr. Kang, and Ms. Oh at the end of the day." Sicheng said. Ms. Kim nodded, wrote, and asked, "Can you tell me why you didn't go to Mr. Yoo's class today?"

Sicheng hesitated. It just dawned on him that he hadn't gone to Mr. Yoo's class. He didn't remember being there at all; in fact, when he left Mrs. Lee's class in the morning, he saw the time on the clock, and knew he had to go to his third class of the day.

"Why were you in Mrs. Lee's room for so long?" Ms. Kim asked Sicheng stared at the table, his vision blurring over as bits and pieces of the morning came back to him. His hand went to the back of his neck, and he shivered. He gulped; he closed his eyes and he felt a few tears fall into his lap. He felt the pain all over again, and he bit his tongue against the urge to scream.

"Do you need a minute, Sicheng?" Ms. Kim's voice sounded far away, like she was standing on the patio while Sicheng swam in the pool. Sicheng opened his eyes and looked at her-- and she was blurry, too, like he was looking at her from the middle level of the water. Sicheng shook his head, "No--" but his voice cracked and he sobbed and everything went blurry, and foggy, and he felt like he was underwater-- and when he tried to breath, his breath wheezed, and he was drowning -- and he was sleeping.

 

  
Sicheng caught a break when he woke up in his bed, hardly recounting anything that had happened after passing out under his counselor's watch. He remembered blinking open his blurry eyes and seeing faces above him, but he remembered nothing past that. He wondered if it had all been a dream, but he checked his calendar and it said Friday, and he checked his phone and it said 10:00. His roommate was gone--classes, and clubs, and jobs to attend to. Sicheng rarely saw his roommate, but Jung Yoonoh was nice when he was around. Sicheng almost wished he was there.

When Sicheng moved, his phone fell off of his bed. It hit the ground with a loud, piercing sound; and he wasn't surprised to see a crack along the screen when he turned it over. He watched the screen light up under his thumb's command, and saw some messages floating beneath his notifications. Lee Taeyong, Jung Yoonoh--even Seo Youngho. Sicheng watched his cracked screen go black, and tucked the phone into his front pocket. He didn't want to answer the messages just yet.

Sicheng got up and made breakfast. He drank some milk, and wondered what happened to him yesterday. He went to the fridge for some yogurt, and realized how much he hurt. He went to the bathroom to clean up, and saw bruises on the side of his neck, and when he reached back, he felt one on the back of his neck, too. In the shower, he saw more bruises-- and he finally noticed a hospital band around his wrist. Sicheng blinked a couple of times, confusion dripping from his eyelashes.

Sicheng returned to his phone, hoping one of his friends would tell him what had happened to him yesterday, but the messages-- the What happened?, the Are you okay?, the Please call me didn't seem to know what had gone on, either.

So, Sicheng replied-- I don't know and I think so and "Hello?"

"Sicheng?" Youngho asked, and he sounded hushed and hurried and Sicheng said, "Yes," and Youngho breathed loudly, a sigh of some emotion, "Sicheng, I was so worried about you. You were in the counselor's office yesterday and-- they had to drag you out of here to go to the hospital. What happened?"

"I-- don't know." Sicheng said. Youngho sighed, but Sicheng could detect the impatience this time, "Please stop answering my questions like that, Sicheng. First you don't know if you love me, then you don't know if you cheated on me, and now--"

"I really don't know, hyung." Sicheng said quietly. Youngho was silent for some moments, then-- "I understand if you don't want to tell me, but I really am worried about you."

"I want to tell you," Sicheng said; and he was crying and he didn't know why, "But I don't know what happened. I-- Youngho, I think one of my classmates--" and he couldn't say it, but "--I can't remember it."

"Where are you?" Youngho asked. Sicheng thought about Youngho running to him, and hugging him, and kissing him anywhere-- forehead, cheek, or tongue, but he couldn't let Youngho waste his time coming to comfort him, so "I don't know."

"Yes you do." Youngho said, and Sicheng sobbed and "I'm at home," and Youngho asked, with serious doubt, "On campus, or in China?" and Sicheng really thought about lying, but he just couldn't lie to Youngho; "Campus."

"Stay there." Youngho demanded, and he hung up and Sicheng cried, and he dropped his phone but it didn't make a piercing sound. He hung his head and he simply cried, and he was in the same position when Youngho opened up the unlocked door and shut it with his foot, and pulled him close and hugged him tight and kissed his shaking temple.

"I'm sorry." Sicheng said-- and he was sorry for everything, so when Youngho asked, "For what?" Sicheng didn't know how to reply. He said so, "I don't know," and Youngho said "Yes, you do," and Sicheng did know but he didn't know, so he blurted "I'm sorry for cheating," and Youngho sighed and told him, "I know you are," and it was strange, how Youngho knew Sicheng before Sicheng knew Sicheng.

"Yoonoh told me what you told him, a long time ago." Youngho said. Sicheng didn't know what to say, so he let Youngho speak, "He told me that you spilled all your insecurities to him-- that you'd never been loved, and you thought I wouldn't come back from California--and that's why you cheated. You felt a disconnect, and... you just-- you just wanted to be loved?"

Sicheng closed his eyes. He hated hearing those words, Y o u j u s t w a n t t o b e l o v e d It hit close to home; it was too much reality. Sicheng couldn't face it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Youngho asked. He rubbed Sicheng's back, and "I know you enough to know that... that you didn't mean it. I know you enough to know that-- you would never just cheat on me, but when you didn't tell me why and all you said was sorry, and-- and I d o n ' t k n o w I--"

Youngho cut himself off just to kiss Sicheng. His lips were a pair that Sicheng hadn't felt in such a long time--and Sicheng cried a little more, and broke the kiss too early, and let out two sobs and kissed Youngho again, and Youngho rubbed Sicheng's eyes for him, and brushed back his hair and cried with him, and told him "I-I can't trust you, but--" and  b u t  didn't sound promising in the case, and Youngho didn't continue, and Sicheng said "I'm sorry" and Youngho told him "I'm sorry, too."

They hugged, and they held each other for a long time. Youngho was silent until he said "Who hurt you?" and Sicheng wondered if he meant yesterday, or forever. So he asked, "Yesterday?" and Youngho nodded, "Who was he?" and Sicheng said "A classmate," and "What's his name?" and "I don't know" and Youngho didn't say Yes you do, because it was obvious Sicheng d i d n o t.

"What about before?" Youngho asked. "Who made you feel unloved?"

Sicheng began to list off names, "Nakamoto Yuta," who was recent, and came to Sicheng a lot. "Qian Kun," who was his first love, and left him heartbroken at thirteen. "My mom," who suffocated him under the sheets every night until he moved to South Korea. "Kim Dongyoung," his first love in South Korea, who left him heartbroken at fifteen. "Lee Taeyong," who never knew how much Sicheng loved him. "And... you," who was standing here now, holding him, and unable to be with him.

"I'm sorry," Youngho said, and Sicheng knew it, and he said so, "I know."

 

  
Pity love. That was what Youngho had given him for a couple hours during a Friday afternoon. Sicheng had felt it all before-- fake love, jealous love, real love, and no love. But he had never felt  p i t y  l o v e  before. That was something new.

The only difference between pity love and all the other loves was the amount of physical disconnect. Fake love left bruises on his skin; jealous love left painful bruises on his skin; no love left nothing--just an empty feeling. Pity love truly left nothing, not even the feeling of being empty. Pity love drew Sicheng to the water; he stared down into it and watched his tears fall, and didn't even realize he was crying. He thought it was rain. He thought it was raining over his head, because it sure felt like it.

Sicheng fished his cracked phone out of his pocket, and stared at the messages on his screen. There were only two-- an  I love the book so far  text from his father, followed by some happy emoticons and hearts. Sicheng felt awful, knowing he'd sent the book to his father with nothing but depression written into the last pages. Just a week, it had taken for Sicheng to piece his mind and the rest of his story together. Just a week, before graduation took place. Just a week, but Sicheng couldn't make it.

Before Sicheng knew it, Youngho was on the phone. He said "Hello?" but he was met with silence; he said "Hello?" again, but Sicheng didn't answer. He just cried, and didn't realize he was crying. He looked over the edge and rose to his toes; he felt the pressure on his ribs from the railing, and felt the fear clamp around his heart, making it difficult to breathe. He told Youngho, with his last breaths, "I love you," and then he was gone; and all Youngho heard from the other side was a splash into some water, and the drowning of the phone.


End file.
